The Eclipse of Moonbeam Dawson (5 page)

He wasn't sure if he even looked part Native. He did have dark, straight hair and dark eyes, and his shoulders were broad, but his features were sort of a hodge-podge and it seemed to him that as far as his looks went, his roots could have been just about anywhere except Scandinavia or Africa. He found the whole thing pretty confusing, to say the least.

He glanced at a Department of Fisheries and Oceans sign,
NO DRESSING FISH ON DOCK
, and chuckled again. Maybe it was because he had been raised with no TV, but he was always seeing scenes in his head that amused him. This time he imagined people sitting on the dock putting little hats and dresses and nice little clothes on shiny salmon, halibut, and ling cod. Then a constable coming along and giving them a warning, pointing sternly at the sign. He knew the sign was to keep slimy fish guts off the dock, but still he liked the picture of halibut wearing Toronto Blue Jays sweatshirts and baseball caps.

“Moonbeam,” Abby called, looking to the south of Stubbs Island. “I think this might be him.”

Down the channel as the fog began to lift, a large white yacht made its way toward the dock. The fog rose like a curtain on cue as the sparkling craft got closer. Moonbeam was mesmerized by the play of light over a ridge of trees that wove a mat of deep green rising up to the tops of Mt. Colnett and Lone Cone, the twin mountains that stood out in the panorama of the sound. The weather had been so lousy ever since they got there that he had forgotten how dazzling the sea-mountain-sky geography was in this place. Super, Natural, British Columbia. They sure got that right.

“Some boat,” he whistled.

“More like a ship, eh?” Abby said nervously. “Wave, Moonbeam. So he'll know it's us.”

“There's no one else on the dock, Mum.” Moonbeam went to the first finger of the dock where Abby was waiting.

“I'm surprised. The tourists aren't as bad as I thought.”

“What's-his-name said they don't get really thick until summer.”

“His name is
Harvey.
”

“I still think we should have set up camp last night instead of staying at
Harvey's
place.”

“Like I said, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Moonbeam. It was pouring.”

“If people don't like rain they should live in the prairies.”

“You want to move to Calgary or something?”

“No. I don't mind rain. Although the coast sure gets a lot more than Heather Mountain.”

“That's over.”

“I know that. I'm just saying it's wetter here, that's all.”

“Wave.” Abby smiled as the boat pulled in next to the dock. “Be friendly.”

“You wave.” Moonbeam shoved his hands in his pockets as the boat glided smoothly in next to the dock, the engine purring as it idled.

“You folks all set?” A big guy with strawberry-blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard moved quickly to the stern and extended a hand to Abby.

What's with these guys, don't they think she can move around on her own?

Jim Goltz introduced himself and invited them to sit wherever they liked.

“I'll sit up with Jim,” Abby said, looking up at the wheel on top of the forward cabin. “Bet there's a great view from up there.”

“There's plenty of room if you want to join us, son.”

Son? That's weird.

“No, thanks, I'll just stay back here.”

Abby and Jim went up top, and in a few minutes the boat backed slowly away from the dock, then turned and headed out of the channel.

Located in Father Charles Channel between Vargas to the north and Wickaninnish to the south, Stere Island was only a short boat trip from Tofino when the weather cooperated. But the Pacific Ocean was rarely calm on this coast of North America. There were rocky islets rising up from the ocean swells, dangerous ocean tides, shoals, wild storms, and the entire shore was often shrouded in the thickest fog. It could get as stormy as the Atlantic, although it didn't share its frigid winters. The Japanese current, the Kuroshio, warmed the shoreline, and the coastal waters were teeming with fish, marine mammals, and sea birds.

A seal popped his head out of the water and peeked at them with big, brown eyes, then darted back down into the ocean. Moonbeam smiled, staring at the spot where the seal had surfaced, hoping the little guy would pop up again.

Even though they had been told the resort was a fancy place, Moonbeam still wasn't prepared for the sight of the sixty-room lodge as they cruised into the marina. Facing north, it was an architectural jewel with large expanses of glass and magnificent stone set in the warmest cedar. He had the impression that the whole place had been dropped there by helicopter and it was somehow just not real.

“Wow,” Moonbeam whispered as they walked up the broad steps to the front entrance.

“Yeah, wow,” Abby said, nervously. “I'm not sure about this place.”

“Not exactly a TraveLodge.”

“What are those other buildings?” Abby pointed to a building adjacent to the lodge and then another, about thirty meters southwest of the lodge nestled back in the trees. Both were connected to the ground floor of the lodge with covered walkways.

“The close one is the spa and sport facility. It has exercise rooms, a tennis court, an Olympic-size pool, saunas, and massage rooms,” Jim Goltz explained.

Hmmm. Massage. Wonder who gives those?

“Does it have a basketball court?” Moonbeam asked eagerly.

“There is a hoop behind the other building, which is where the employees live. Those that want to live on the island.”

Abby stopped just inside the main entrance, glancing appreciatively at the painting over the registration desk. “This lobby looks like an art gallery.”

“We have a collection of some of the finest British Columbia Native artists,” Jim explained, as Abby stopped by a Native mask next to the huge stone fireplace in the center of the lobby.

“I see you have a Robert Davidson,” she said, referring to the famous Haida artist. “My son is actually—”

“How many of the employees live here?” Moonbeam interrupted, glaring at his mother.

“It's about half and half. A lot of people come over from the Ahousat Reserve. Quite a few live in town. Right now there's twelve living in our employee apartments.”

“The place with the hoop.”

“Right. Why don't I give you a complete tour of the lodge, and then we can go to the office and go over the openings we have.”

Before he saw Stere Island Lodge, Moonbeam thought the Empress Hotel had the most beautiful stuff he had ever seen. But this place amazed him. From each table you could see the endless breakers of the open Pacific crashing in on the broad, sandy beach with its storm-tossed driftwood. The island's wild north shore was in such sharp contrast to the fancy dining room with its Emily Carr prints and gleaming silver that Moonbeam again had the weird feeling that there was something unreal about the place.

Off the dining room was a lounge with dark wood paneling and an oil painting of Thomas Stere, one of the early settlers of Clayoquot Sound who first made a famous kayak expedition to the island that was later named for him. Next to the lounge was a small coffee shop and an adjoining gift shop that sold magazines, newspapers, and drugstore items. Across the lobby from the reception desk, Jim pointed out the lodge's exclusive clothing store, Richard Beaupied of Montreal.

“What kind of clothes do they have?” Abby walked toward the shop.

“Pretty pricey. I'm not sure how to describe them. Want to look?”

Abby nodded. She got excited the minute they walked in the shop. “It looks like there's a lot of hand-crafted clothing. Maybe I could talk to them about my weaving!”

A silver-haired lady about sixty, dressed in an expensive sweater and slacks, was looking through the clothes. She peered at Abby and Moonbeam over the top of her glasses and then turned her back, seeming to bristle at the intrusion.

Abby glanced at the price tag of a designer jacket on a rack near the door. “I don't know if they'd want mine.” She hesitated, losing her nerve.

“Of course they would, Mum.” Moonbeam looked around the shop. “They're as pretty as anything in here.”

“Anne Depue, the shop manager, must have stepped out.” Jim stood in the doorway and looked across the lobby. “But I'm sure she'd be glad to talk to you.”

“Thanks.” Abby bit her lip and ran her hand through her hair.

The next stop on the tour was the lodge kitchen, a huge efficient room with large stainless steel appliances. “We've stolen our head chef, Claude Gautier, from the Normandy in Vancouver.” Jim introduced them just as a girl who looked about Moonbeam's age emerged from a large pantry. She was at least a head shorter than Moonbeam, with shiny dark hair tied at the nape of her neck in a thick braid. She had a slim, athletic build and moved gracefully in spite of the large sack of potatoes she was carrying.

He's going to introduce me. I will have to say something. I will have to get some words to come out of my mouth.

“This is Gloria Burgess, she's our prep person. But she's been filling in everywhere since we're shorthanded.”

“Hi, I'm the potato peeler today,” she said, smiling at Moonbeam and Abby.

“Hi, Gloria.” Abby greeted her warmly. “Looks like you've got your work cut out for you.”

“Hi.” Moonbeam tried to look at her, not the floor. “I, uh, used to peel potatoes where we used to live,” he said, finally.

“Then you have experience.”

“Oh yeah.” He looked at the floor. “Me and potatoes are old friends.”
I can't believe I just said I have potato friends. Now she thinks I play with Mr. Potato Head.

“Most of our openings are for the kitchen staff. We've got to hire a dishwasher right away.” Jim Goltz led them into the office down the hall from the lodge kitchen.

“I love to wash dishes,” Moonbeam announced enthusiastically.

“You do?” Abby raised her eyebrows. “That's news to me.”

“What's your situation with school?” Jim asked. “Would you only be able to work weekends like Gloria does?”

“We had a teacher on Heather Mountain, but it was the same as being home schooled. I have all my assignments until the end of the semester, so I could work full time.”

“He's done really well being home schooled. It gives us a lot of flexibility,” Abby added.

Yeah and I'm getting sick and tired of it, too.

“We could sure use you.” Jim Goltz ushered them into his office. “Pardon the mess on my desk,” he apologized, motioning for them to sit down. “Just have a seat and I'll get a couple of applications for you.”

He opened a file cabinet, pulled out two applications, and fastened each one to a clipboard. “Take as long as you need. I can answer any questions when I get back. I've got to check on some reservations at the front desk.”

Moonbeam bent over the application, printing carefully as he filled in the blanks, steadily moving down the page until he came to the last sentence.

The Stere Island Lodge is situated on land leased from the Clayoquot First Nation People. If you have Native heritage or have Native relatives, please describe below.

Moonbeam looked out the wide glass window toward the wing of the lodge that held the kitchen and dining room. If they got jobs here, they could live right on this island in the staff apartments. It'd be the best of both worlds. A nice little apartment with an inside toilet, but they'd be living right out here on the ocean, with herons and eagles and whales and seals. And that girl Gloria. Someone definitely around his age. Not only around his age, but very, very pretty. She looked to him like she might be Native. Maybe not all, but maybe she was half-Native, like he was, and if he worked here he could get to know her. He'd be an idiot not to do everything he could to get this job! Moonbeam read the sentence again, and then before he had a chance to change his mind, he wrote: Father, Daniel Dawson, Haida, Deceased.

“I'm done,” he said, signing his name.

Moonbeam put the clipboard on the desk. Then he saw that Abby was staring at hers and that it was still blank. “How come you haven't filled it out?”

“I need to think about this.” She pulled the application off the clipboard and stuffed it in the woven bag she used for a purse. “I'll just do it later.”

“What's there to think about? This place is perfect!”

“I need to think about it, that's all.”

*   *   *

As they left the marina, Moonbeam sat toward the back of the boat and stared at the lodge. They could actually be living there any day now since Jim said they were in a hurry to get the jobs filled. What a great deal! He could just see himself living in that nice employee apartment place and walking through the forest to the lodge, hanging out in the warm kitchen, eating some of that great food, getting to know Gloria.

When they arrived at the Fourth Street dock, the shift had changed at the Pacific Seafood company and about a dozen sturdy young men in wet olive green slickers and gumboots emerged from the building west of the dock. Sure hope I get hired at the lodge so I don't have to look for work there, Moonbeam thought, imagining a day filled with bloody fish guts. Now that he could see himself on the staff at Stere Island Lodge, every other possible job looked lousy by comparison. But he was afraid to count on it too much.

“What'd you think, Mum?” Moonbeam climbed in the truck.

“This better start.” Abby put the key in the ignition.

“Not about the truck, about the lodge.”

“Good, it started.” Abby put the truck in the gear and headed down Fourth Street.

“So what did you think?”

“It was okay.”

“
Okay?
Just
okay?
I'd say it was perfect! I can just see us in those really nice apartments with those huge trees all around. No outhouse, but right out in nature. It couldn't be better. Hey, why don't we stop at that bakery, the Common Loaf?”